Notes from the Future
YA Contemporary (with a speculative twist)
Seventeen-year-old Nicole Sasaki Jensen finds a handwritten letter in her bedroom.
Don’t let Cara drive home today.
Jake Conway –Year 2021
Nicole has never been friends with the ever-so-popular Jake or his cheerleader girlfriend Cara. And from five years into the future? Someone is definitely playing a prank on her. Nicole ignores the letter, and after school, Cara crashes her car into a pole.
When more letters keep coming, Nicole confronts Present-Day Jake, but he doesn’t know what to make of it either. Instead, they act as Cara’s silent guardians, watching her from behind bushes and jumping in front of would-be accidents — but Nicole starts getting injured in Cara’s place, from third-degree burns one day to nearly freezing to death another. But the only way to find out why Future-Jake entrusted her with the “save Cara” job is to keep following the letters.
Too bad she’s falling in love with Present-Day Jake in the process.
Complete at 68,000 words, NOTES FROM THE FUTURE is a YA contemporary with a speculative twist. It’s like Jay Asher and Carolyn Mackler’s THE FUTURE OF US meets Jenny Han’s TO ALL THE BOYS I’VE LOVED BEFORE.
I received the 2008 President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (PGMA) award of outstanding achievement in campus journalism.
First 300 words:
Don’t let Cara drive home today. Please save her.
Until this moment, I never cared that Jake Conway and Cara Frey have been dating since eighth grade. It’s only natural because they’re perfect for each other; Jake is the captain of the water polo team and Cara is–without a doubt–the hottest member of the cheerleading team. While Jake is handsome, it’s Cara my eyes are always subconsciously drawn to. Mainly because she seems so unnaturally pretty for an average high school girl living in Colorado. With her luscious wavy brown hair and defined hazel eyes, she could be swept away by the talent scouts from Victoria’s Secret one day.
She and I used to be neighbors but after her parents’ divorce, we drifted in different directions. Now our relationship consists of the occasional shared class and exchanging hellos in the hallway. I’d hardly describe us as close.
More importantly, Jake Conway never talks to me.
Okay, that’s half a lie. Although our social circles have never crossed each other, I sit next to Jake in Calculus. Sometimes, he offers me his notes because Mr. Casanov erases the white board too fast and my skills are too slow to keep up. That’s how I confirmed the note was definitely from Jake—the handwriting matches his. But just because he’s nice enough to share his notes doesn’t make us buddies by any means.
So why is there a letter from him on my bedroom desk? And why is the postage dated five years from now? What’s with the ominous tone?
The light brown envelope smells faintly of coffee. The edges are burnt unevenly, and it’s wrinkled from its rough treatment at the post office. I’m certain I’d be the last person Jake would send a letter to.